Do As The Malfoys Do
by Devilzzz
Summary: After her family's death in the war, Ginny is sent to live with the remaining family of the Malfoys---Narcissa and Draco, who have apparently turned to the good side. But one can never tell about a Malfoy. GD.
1. As A Guest

She had come far too soon. They knew it, she had known it. But a house of a mess and destruction did not matter to her---for the manor was five times as large as the Burrow's only two bathrooms combined, and the way Narcissa had thought to put vases by the window---colored vases, rose-hued vases to sparkle at her as she entered felt so gracious, like a tug at her chest, pulling into her a forbidden warmth. There were no house-elves left, and Narcissa stepped down the staircase, the large, steep staircase, wearing a dress that seemed to cover her full height, with her beautiful hair pulled up and covered in ringlets over her pale, sunken face. Her hair might've been glowering the word Malfoy, but the vacant arm missing jewels and necklaces showed that there inside a Malfoy never lived. Her face was no longer remotely pretty or attractive, there was no makeup, and even more makeup would make it horrible, worse.  
  
"Ginny?" she asked, not knowing. Oh, how Ginny would love not to know. How Ginny would love to say, 'Ginny's not here.' But as she picked up her only bag, the bag that imprinted 'W' on the front that she had insisted to knit when she was ten, she stepped toward Narcissa in the manner a lady should, and bowed.  
  
"Oh, dear," Narcissa wrinkled her nose disgustedly. "We must do something about your clothes. And your hair. Come, come." She wriggling a finger as she gracefully walked up the steps in tiny little footsteps that Ginny could barely hear---she found this an accomplishment, as when Ginny looked down, Narcissa's heels were pointed and sharp like knives, and could cut the carpet that lay on the marble staircase in half---but surprisingly, it did not.  
  
***  
  
The room was dusty, she noticed. It must have been locked for a long time to be as dusty as this. It was quite larger than her former room, but oh how it smelled of something horrid---like expensive perfume had been sprayed far too strongly. She did not want to tell this to Narcissa and prayed that the look on her face was quite grateful. "Thank you for this," she said, as she had sad many a time.  
  
Narcissa did not respond. As if thank you was a revolting swear word, she bowed herself out of the room, insisting that Ginny need some rest, although Ginny knew that Narcissa left because of the smell---she sighed and sat down at the corner of her bed. Everything was white here. Even the dresser was white. The walls, the ceilings, the bedsheets of the beds, and the floor had no carpet, so her feet were prone to the cold that surrounded it in it's tile. She gazed out the window, and saw that she was at a part of the mansion that could not be seen---the back part. What shocked her was the balcony. It was the utmost gorgeous thing she had ever seen. She fell in love with it at the first sighting, and she opened the glass windows and stepped out clumsily, but did not scorn at her messiness, for holding onto the end bars of it had become a part of a dream. She smelled roses in the garden, and the awful perfume smell went away. The world felt green and alive at the balcony, a small little white thing that she lay her bare feet on once her shoes were off.  
  
She did not know where to sit. The balcony was cleaned by the recent rain but she still did not know. She looked over and saw another balcony and was startled to see it was occupied.  
  
The man was smoking, his long, pale fingers holding onto the drug as if it could clench him, and letting out the air. He did not feel her staring, so she continued to do so. He was wearing a long cloak tied around him to protect him from the cold, and his hair was like a white silver, shining in the sunlight. His hands were turning red and he stuffed them in his pockets, throwing the drug away and stomping at his foot with it in one, easy swift movement with the heel of his boot. He seemed to be watching the garden, gazing at it in space, the garden below him. He licked his lips and Ginny foresaw his name---it came to her like an instant, Draco Malfoy, Narcissa's son, Slytherin, eighteen years of age.  
  
She clutched her ragged dress around her, trying not to shiver but clattering her teeth, for resistance shook her. The dress was one of the only dresses she had left---it was ripped at the end but it was green and mother had loved it the most. Mum, she thought, loved it the most. She caught her breath and shook everything off. Do not think about anything or you will die, she told herself furiously.  
  
Her shawl was the only thing to protect her neck, and she wanted to abandon it the instant she turned around---and saw the windows closed.  
  
She tried to open them but her fingers hurt and scratched from trying. She cried out in frustration, false remembering nobody was there.  
  
But there was someone there, only a few feet away, at another balcony.  
  
"You," the cold voice snapped. "Are not allowed to go outside."  
  
Ginny was so embarrassed she had an intention of ignoring it---until the window raised two inches---she looked over at Malfoy, waiting to show him her triumph---until the window suddenly, sharply fell down on her fingers.  
  
*** 


	2. As A Lady

Draco did not say a word as he heard her shriek---he merely observed her, as if she was a fasinating object, and he only wanted to finger her, study her with his own skin and see what was inside, something dull and colorless, or something pink that would splurge out, smelling of the sweet fragrance of bubble gum. The crashing sound, the thump thump thump as she begged her fingers to let out, and when her fingers escaped from the sharp edge of the window, was to be heard all over the garden, and as she finally retrieved her hand, the window shut closed, and she dare not try to open it again.  
  
Embarrassment was a musky, drowning territory that flushed her, gave her nothingless but what was happening, but not feeling that it was happening at all. She gazed over to the balcony that Draco had finally dropped his cigar and stomped on in, and he smiled at her, faintly. "You are not supposed to go out in the balcony," he said, his smile everything but sweet. It was not devious---it was the smile of a sinner, a sinner who had just killed to his own wishes. "There are things, little Weasel, that live in the garden, that would not be happy to see you."  
  
She was like a child as she backed away, clutching her shawl in a tremor, a tremble. "Like what?" she thought of evil gnomes attacking her by her bedroom window at night.  
  
He laughed. "I dare not say their names, for what is in the Malfoy Manor stays in the Malfoy Manor," he said. He need not call, shout or scream as he said this. He only needed to say it, and even when his voice was soft and barely audible, it could be heard, needed and understood, though not evenly.  
  
"I---I am getting out of here!" she threatened angrily.  
  
"Promise?" he asked, his features emotionless as he spoke.  
  
She grit her teeth. "You know without me, you're in trouble." She did not know why she had to say it, it was the need to anger him, to shake him emotionally and see if he was human, or if he was even close.  
  
His lips fell into a distant frown. "You know," he said, his voice tight, "Without me, you're in trouble as well. It's a win-win situtation. Don't ruin it."  
  
She felt her hand bleed, blood sticky against her fingers as she willed to wipe the blood on her shawl with as much as strength as she could seize not to wince or scream as she did---girls, ladies, did not wince or shout, princesses did not either. Ladies took the pain, recieved it like a duty and felt it for as long as they could. She wiped it, and it matched, almost faded in with the color. "Don't worry," she said. "I won't."  
  
Draco did not say anything else as he climbed into his window, gracefully at that, and it shut almost thunderishly behind him.  
  
Now, she thought, shivering. How to get off this damn balcony?  
  
She ever so did wish there were no evil gnomes about below her as she approached her window. 


	3. As A Exsistance

Dinner was an unusual affair at the Malfoy house, she decided. The Manor was far too quiet, and when Narcissa had waken her sharply from a dream she had been quite passionate at continuing---a dream full of lovely daisies and roses as she pondered the garden, plucking her finger at each flower, and letting the petals dry, until her skin turned green and a flash of light, then suddenly gone as she woke, her shawl wrapped around her throat. That was strange, she thought. She did not remember having to wrap it around her again, and the way Narcissa poised over her, a pale, expressionless emotion upon her face seemed almost deadening, sickening in it's own, complicated way. "Dinner is ready downstairs," Narcissa spoke, in her usual, demoaring voice. Yes, yes, Narcissa, Ginny said, as usual, as usual as an obedient little girl who had been offered pretty colors of the rainbow. Narcissa was wearing something completely different tonight--- glittering jewels from left to right dangling from her wrists---this surprised Ginny in the most obscene ways--after all, after Lucius had died, the only thing left in their posession had been the manor, and nothing more. So how did she still have few furnitures left, how did she have the jewels still locked away and to put on again? Ginny did not know and followed Narcissa downstairs, walking in tiny steps of her own, each step worth a heartbeat or an ounce of a second passing by.  
  
She was annoyed by every single thing as she passed by. She hated the feeling of the manor, the feeling of unwelcoming presence that was merely here. Her fingers locked within the stairway rail as she walked, fighting to keep her dress intact. After she had escaped through the burden of that awful, continiously-shutting window, she had dressed herself, knowing Narcissa would not like it if she did not wear the fresh clothes that had been provided for her beneath the bed. It was a small dress, wrinkled and green, made of fabric that swept around her body like a warm, tightening embrace. In fact, the heels Narcissa had picked out did not suite her very well---at every heel there seemed to be a black suicide of each toe, and the dress seemed to be entangling her further, and the bows, she realized in horror as she caught a glimpse of shadow and reflection at one of the paintings, made her look like the young, virgin girl with pigtails when she was seven. It disgusted her far too deeply, insulted her experiances and her pain. She did not dare look at Malfoy as she entered the large, dining hall and sat down at the end of the table, about forty seats across from Malfoy. Narcissa sat herself down strictly between the middle, and began to eat without a word.  
  
Malfoy was wearing fancy clothing---black pants, white shirt with a collar, strings of white dripping around his neck. She caught the glare he gave her within every bite he took, chomping at his teeth. Ginny did not know what to do or what to say--there was no food at her plate, and the food at their plates did not look remotely appetizing at the least---in fact, it looked yellow and unedible.  
  
"Narcissa?" Ginny spoke softly. "I haven't any food on my plate."  
  
Narcissa gazed at her curiously. "Did you expect any, silly girl?"  
  
Her tone was different--somewhat suspicious and innocent. Narcissa looked like a young girl---as if she was telling Ginny something with her fingers, but she was not getting the wave goodbye, even though it settled in moving fingertips.  
  
"Yes," Ginny responded. Why was this bloody dress so hard to be comfortable in? The more she breathed, it seemed to be growing tighter and tighter.  
  
Narcissa merely looked at her. "You can go up to bed now, Virginia."  
  
Ginny did not understand this arrangement at all, but she did not want to have to look at Draco's eyes trailing at her face up and down as she almost ran upstairs, untying the straps of her dress as she entered her room, sweaty, mussed and uncomfortable. The dress peeled off slowly like leather, and it went down to her knees, and her body pressed against the door as she crawled down. Mum never starved me. She gave fourth helpings of everything. Absolutely everything.  
  
At times like these she hated speaking to herself like this. But it was just a time she could not inhale anymore. The stress was overwhelming, and something was needed to be done about it, frantically. She did not understand why they wanted to starve her, she did not understand why she was here, and she did not understand why she did not kill herself already and be done with it with a flutter of one's wand.  
  
She stuck her finger down her throat for release, until it tickled her throat viciously, and the yanking noises of near-vomiting reached her until she repeated the process---vomit flowing, one by one onto the white-tiled floor. An ache spread throughout her head as she finished, her throat dry and feeling as if it had been blocked with rock and steel---that was strange, wasn't it, how she hadn't eaten since yesterday, and yet, there was so much on the floor to look at. She waited for the vomit to melt away, and her stress to slowly fade from it's release.  
  
It did no such thing. Ginny could not take opening her eyes anymore. With a leap, she collapsed onto her bed, throwing the covers over her head, her repulsing smell of vomit lingering in her breath as she fanned her pillow with it, hoping to dream, this time, of lillies.  
  
***  
  
She did not at all dream of the wonder that were lillies but the wonder that was Draco. She dreamed he was beside her bed, watching her with eyes that wandered while she slept and turned over. She dreamed he reached out and unbuttoned her dress from behind as she was on her back---but it was only in the middle of the dream that she realized she had awaken with a start, and her dress falling at the edge of her stomach, with a pale, white hand drumming it's fingers at her pillow.  
  
***  
  
[Author's Note: I haven't written one of these notes in ages! I guess I've been loosening myself out of them. Yes, this hasn't been beta-readed or spellchecked. If anyone is interested in beta-reading, make sure you're qualified, I beg of you;P! I am very, very sorry for the late update, and those who read my other fics: no, I haven't given up on them, I just haven't updated as much because this year is a busy one and I don't write fanfiction as I used to. There, I said it. But, this year, I need to graduate, and it...yes, yes...that's right. Will contain. "Thinking". *Shudder*. Do not ever say that word to me! Horrible, horrible word. Stupid word. Anyways. I understand if you find it confusing, but of course, everything always rolls out in the end...doesn't it? :D. Ew. I sound like an adult. EW. EW EW EW. If I sound like that again, smack the hell outta me and feel free to eat my nose, I hate it. Thanks and loves to all reviewers!]  
  
~Courtney S.A. 


	4. As A Shadow

"You seemed uncomfortable," Draco merely said, when Ginny rose from the bed, startled, her hands clutched against the front frame of the dress, her eyes sighting his in a way that said 'how could you?'. "Why did you come in here?" she asked, scared and confused. So soft was the brilliance escaping away from her...the bravery that she once had, and now the light was pouring in from the glass smudges of the window, sketching her every move to create a place in the wall that stayed frozen inches away, a drawing of Ginny on the wall. Nothings and randoms were mixing in her head like colors that had nowhere to go as he gazed at her for hours, it seemed, but of course, everything seemed like an hour to Ginny. Draco looked almost surprised at this question.  
  
"To see if you wanted something to eat."  
  
No, this could not be happening, and Draco turned and looked at the spots on the floor for hours. "You threw up." Damp that spot seemed as he said, it, bluntly, without any disgust. How could a character change, rotate, within a matter of seconds that it was almost terrifying? How could he be so gentle from the stark, mad character he once was? Like an actor, he seemed to know how to embrace the darkness and something else of someone else, entirely different.  
  
"Well, of course I have," Ginny said, a bit haughtily, her lips upturning into bitterness that since did not exist in him, once brought out in her. "What did you think, I would stay put as you two starved me to my death?"  
  
He smiled faintly at her annoyance and reached out to grab the straps of her dress, putting them out. She almost obeyed it like an order as she brought her arms out, letting him, two small threads tapping at her shoulders. "Now, now, Mother doesn't like to waste food."  
  
"Well, really, she has enough money to buy jewels, and yet she starves a house guest who has nowhere else to go?" Ginny snapped. She hadn't mean to-- and the expression on his face changed, almost went horrifyingly strange, as if it had always been, at all times.  
  
"Now see here, Weasley," he said, back to the same Draco, the old Draco, again, unfortunate, "You're not to be curious. Just do what you're asked and you're to live here."  
  
"Now see here, Malfoy," Ginny shot back. "I'd rather die trying to survive out there then being stripped in my damn sleep."  
  
Two pink flushed spots appeared at his cheekbones--his cheekbones were rather high, Ginny observed, and the color of pink was like white on a red lollipop, clear until stained. "You don't know what you're talking about. You don't even know me."  
  
"That's right! I don't know what you or your horrible, wretched mother will do next! And that's why I am leaving!" Ginny said, looking scorned, looking dead, both at the same time. The features of his expression changed once again, and he smiled at her, as if he was offering her a challenge, a ribbon, a crown, and if she was to take it, her head would fall down. "Leave, Weasley, then, do us both a damn favor."  
  
Ginny almost felt resistance all at once--where would she go? How would she leave? But standing there in front of a complete stranger, oh how she wanted to leave right now--it didn't matter where she went...she would rather die and see her mother once again then see someone else's. Pushing away from his stare, she opened the window.  
  
"What're you doing?" his voice said, aghast.  
  
"Jumping out of the balcony," Ginny said, and it almost seemed ridiculous as she said it, but if freedom was to be felt, and seen, and drawn that way, then she may as well escape, and the drawing of her on the wall, black and faint in sunlight could stay, in the smears of the window frames.  
  
"Weasley," Draco said. "That balcony is above the garden. You cannot enter the garden."  
  
"Just watch me, Malfoy," she said, almost hungrily, stepping out into the balcony. Shivers ran down her as she did, cold reached her in the post winter air hovering about her toes, and then she felt frightened at once--- why was the garden darker than she had seen it before? It was evening, but it had no right to be dark when she was to jump on it! Before she could think anymore, she turned her head to see Draco--- and was hitten in the back of her head hard, lightening, almost, and she fell down, knowing she would never wake again.  
  
*** 


End file.
